


although it's been said many times, many ways

by impossiblepluto



Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [13]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode: s02e12 Mac + Jack, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, spy siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: One more found family piece following the events of 2x11 and 2x12
Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552330
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	although it's been said many times, many ways

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! Two for one stories today. I had intended my little arc following 2x11 and 2x12 to be finished, but then Flowing_river mentioned that maybe the team should find out what happened, and I woke up early to write this before heading into work. This follows:  
>  _i'll hate going out in the storm_  
>  _since we've no place to go_  
>  _all the way home i'll be warm_

The sheets are soft and cool against his feet.

Mac stills, mid-stretch. His eyes remain closed as he figures out his surroundings. Waking in an unfamiliar location is an unremarkable regular occurrence. Barracks and safehouses, hotels and jets, his lab at the Phoenix. But even at his own house, he doesn’t wake this peacefully. Doesn’t sleep this securely in his own bed. 

It immediately clues him in to the fact that he’s at Jack’s. Waking slowly with an overwhelming feeling of safety. 

Location determined he finishes his stretch. Muscles stiff. 

He slept hard. Feels like he didn’t even shift position in the last several hours, just tumbled into bed and unconsciousness. 

The stitches in his side pull and he grunts. 

He’s about to roll over and drift back to sleep when he pauses, his stomach rumbling. He debates ignoring the hunger pangs in favor of falling back asleep, trying to remember the last time he ate something. 

He remembers accepting a few peanut M&M’s from Riley around two in the morning on Christmas day in the surgical waiting room, but nothing after that. Not much in the twelve hours before that either.

With reluctance, he throws back the sheet, shivering when his bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. It’s almost enough to push aside his appetite and huddle back under the blankets, but his stomach grumbles loudly. Demanding. 

He eases the door open, careful not to sound like he’s creeping around. That will have Jack’s senses on high alert. He’d have less chance of waking Jack if he stomped down the hallway. Tiptoeing sounds suspicious. It sounds like an intruder and a threat. 

He needn’t have worried. 

“Hey, he wakes,” Jack says from his lazy boy as Mac makes his way into the living room, one sweatpants leg rolled up to mid-calf, hair sticking out and sleeves hanging over his hands. “I was about to come wake you up. Didn’t want to let your days and nights get too jumbled.”

Mac yawns, squinting through the windows at the dim December afternoon sun. “What time is it?”

“Just after three. You hungry?”

Mac pauses, considers downplaying but answers honestly. “Starving.”

“Me too,” Jack says easing himself from the recliner. He pauses in front of Mac, looking him over and brushing a hand through his hair, and across his forehead. Satisfied with his assessment of his partner, he heads for the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Mac follows him.

“I’ve only been up a couple of minutes,” Jack answers, his head inside the fridge. He pulls out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. 

Mac leans against the counter. “Want some help?”

“We saved one house from an explosion already. Probably shouldn’t tempt fate by letting you cook.” 

“I can scramble an egg,” Mac protests as he settles on a stool at the counter.

“Not much room in this kitchen anyway,” Jack says as he scrambles eggs and sets bacon to sizzling. 

“That’s just an excuse.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I’m too tired to think of a better one. Just accept it and go see if anyone is still playing Christmas movies. Something easy to sleep through.” 

Mac gives a half chuckle as he stumbles into the living room, collapsing on the couch and flipping through channels before settling on Elf. 

A few minutes later Jack follows with two plates. He nudges Mac’s feet out of the way, handing him a plate and taking a seat next to him. He carefully hides his flinch and covertly glances at Mac when Mr. Narwhal wishes Buddy success in finding his dad. The kid doesn’t seem distressed, hungrily tucking into his eggs. 

By the time Buddy the Elf passes through all seven levels of the Candy Cane Forest, through the sea of swirly, twirly gum drops and walked through the Lincoln tunnel, both Mac and Jack have finished their dinner and are snoring on the couch. 

* * *

“You’re eating poptarts? On Christmas morning?” Bozer exclaims, arms laden with packages, and decorations when he enters Jack’s apartment bright and early the next morning, ready to deck the halls and finally celebrate Christmas. 

Mac is sitting at the counter, half-way through the toaster pastry, blond hair askew, still in his sweatpants and sleeping shirt. He shrugs, unperturbed and slightly amused by Bozer’s aghast expression and continues munching.

“He’s got an orange,” Jack says pointing to the fruit on Mac’s plate. “I told you not to expect much in the way of Christmas when you showed up.” 

“It’s a good thing I showed up then,” Bozer drops everything on Jack’s picnic table, then rummages through the pile. 

“Could you have brought any more stuff, Bozer?” Riley complains shoving through Jack’s front door, packages piled high in her arms. “Hope no one is in my way because I can’t see where I’m going.”

“I should have brought more,” Bozer grumbles. “Jack doesn’t have anything here, not even a tree. And he thinks poptarts and oranges are a Christmas breakfast.” 

“I open up my home and tell you that having you guys here safe with me is better than any gift and this is the thanks I get.”

Bozer gathers up his treasures and makes his way to the kitchen, pulling out pans and rummaging through the fridge.

“Just be grateful he didn’t spend the night here,” Riley complains. “Critiquing your grocery list and your spice rack. Apparently, he reorganizes the kitchen when he's stressed and overtired.”

“At least you have a grocery list,” Bozer says, closing the refrigerator door with a disgusted look. “There’s nothing in there Jack!”

“That’s cause I cooked a whole dozen eggs and a pound of bacon last night when the kiddo here finally woke up from his long winter’s nap. Mac, back me up here.”

Mac shakes his head, watching his friends’ antics with a smile. “Where did you get all that stuff, Boze?”

“They let us back in the house this morning,” Bozer says mildly, glancing between Jack and Mac. “Speaking of, someone left the first aid kit on the counter in the kitchen. There was a used suture kit, steristrips and some bloody gauze.”

“I’m sure I’ve got more food around here somewhere,” Jack says, pulling open the small pantry. 

Mac suddenly finds his remaining slices of orange fascinating. He completely forgot about the first aid kit.  


“Like I told you Bozer,” Riley says, moving into the kitchen. “Mac and Jack would tell us if something happened to one of them. They wouldn’t hide this kind of thing. Family doesn’t hide things from each other. Jack always says that. I’m ashamed that you would doubt them like this.”

Jack leans against the counter, arms crossed, a guilty look on his face.

“Right, Jack? You would tell me, wouldn’t you? If you were hurt?” Riley put her hand on his shoulder, looking up at him with concerned eyes.

He breaks immediately. “Of course, I would honey," reassuring her, reaching out for comfort her.  


Riley spins around to face Mac. “I knew it was you.” She aims a finger in his direction.

“Mac, what happened?” Bozer asks. 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Mac says, glaring at Jack for falling for Riley’s trick. For folding so quickly. He holds up his hand as Bozer moves towards him. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

Jack snorts.

Mac shoots him an exasperated look. 

“A scratch that needed stitches?” Riley asks, unconvinced by Mac’s reassurances that he’s fine. “Did you get it crawling under the house? Are you sure it's cleaned out? Maybe you need to get a tetanus shot.” 

“Told you puppy eyes wouldn’t work on them,” Jack smirks. “Tell ‘em more about that  _ scratch,  _ Mac.” 

“It’s more of a graze,” Mac says slowly. 

“Like a bullet?” Bozer asks. “How did you get a graze disarming a bomb?”

Mac sighs. “It happened at the police station.”

“They shot you?” Bozer’s voice is shrill with disbelief, ready to storm the precinct and demand justice. Retribution. 

“Not the cops,” Mac rubs a hand across his face. “It was Ruiz. The cartel member managed to get a lucky shot.”

“That was days ago, and you didn’t think to tell us?” Riley asks Mac, then turns to look at Jack. “And you knew about this? Neither of you mentioned it?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Riley huffs. Her jaw tightening. 

“And then after Cage was shot and Murdoc was a threat, and then the Ghost’s bomb… it didn’t seem important.”

“You got shot, Mac! It is important,” Bozer huffs. “Let me see.”

Mac protests. “Jack’s been checking on it.” 

Bozer and Riley stand in front of him, arms crossed, worried eyes and frowning faces. Mac glances to Jack for support but the older man simply shakes his head. 

“Told ya, you were on your own if they found out, hoss.”

With a sigh, Mac carefully pulls up the hem of his shirt, revealing the row of stitches Jack inserted what feels like longer than just a few days ago. “Just a graze,” he repeats for what feels like the hundredth time.  


“I guess, at least you told Jack,” Bozer says, then narrows his eyes at Mac’s guilty look. “You didn’t tell Jack though. He just called you on your bullshit.” 

Mac ducks his head. 

“Is he okay?” Riley turns back to look at Jack.

“I’m right here,” Mac complains. 

"Forgive me, if I want someone else's opinion," she snaps.

“No fever, no drainage, no swelling,” Jack replies. “He’s eaten and slept. I think he’ll be okay. It’s not the first time we’ve done this song and dance.”

“That doesn’t really make me feel any better,” Bozer fusses. “Mac, go rest on the couch until breakfast is ready.” 

Mac rolls his eyes. 

“He did say, if I thought he needed to be seen that he’d go,” Jack defends Mac against Bozer and Riley’s ire. Bozer rattles pots and pans. 

“Come on,” Riley says, nodding over at Bozer. “We’ll let him cook out his frustration. He’s just worried.”

“I know. Everyone is always just worried,” Mac says following Riley into the living room, sitting next to her on the couch.  


"I guess we'll just have to keep saying it until you believe us. We love you, Mac. We just want to know if you're hurt. We want to help."

Mac sighs. "I know."

"I'm not sure you do. But we'll keep reminding you," Riley's smile is sad.  “I’m sorry too, that we didn’t get you out faster, Mac. If I could have hacked the LAPD sooner you wouldn’t have still been there to be grazed.”

“Riley, that isn’t your fault. You put everything together and got me out. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be in a holding cell, or worse.

“Should have just used thermals in the first place,” guilt written on her face. 

“C’mon, Riles, I’m fine.”

She leans across the couch towards him, pushing his hair back in a motion that reminds him of Jack. Her hand ghosting across his forehead, checking for a fever and he smiles, more indulgent with her than he would be with Jack right now. 

“Are you sure?” She raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I didn’t lie to you,” he protests. 

She shrugs. “Lie of omission.”

“I’m sorry about that. I really didn’t want you to worry. We were all going to be home and together for Christmas. I didn’t want to spoil that.” 

“I’ll forgive you, if you promise not to do it again.”

“Get shot?” Mac asks being deliberately obtuse. 

She fixes him with an unamused look. 

“I promise, the next time I get shot I’ll tell you.”

She frowns. “You know, I appreciate it, but I don’t really like hearing that promise. I’d rather not think about you being shot again.” She shudders at the thought. “How about you promise not to get hurt?”

“Alright,” Mac says with a smile. “My gift to you. I promise not to get hurt this year.” 

“Maybe that’s what you should give Jack for Christmas. You do know you just doomed us to an afternoon of listening to the story of every gray hair on his head and how they’re all your fault.”

  
  
  



End file.
